


they say you gotta toe the line

by missastronaut



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mob, Breathplay, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-27
Updated: 2017-11-27
Packaged: 2019-02-07 11:58:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12840678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missastronaut/pseuds/missastronaut
Summary: It’s been a godawful week, is the thing.





	they say you gotta toe the line

**Author's Note:**

> I don't really go here, but sometime's Pasta looks entirely too much like a mobster. Rated E for sexual content which includes discussion of future breathplay, ie. choking. Title comes from Jake Bugg's Lightning Bolt.

David’s slamming into Krej chasing his orgasm when he hears his apartment door click shut and Brad fucking Marchand yells, “Don’t worry about me, I can entertain myself.” There’s a crash that sounds suspiciously like he’s smashed David or Krej’s wine glass onto the floor and an unapologetic, “Oops.”

It’s been a godawful week, is the thing--Spooner got picked up for possession after one of the gutless morons he hired squealed on him, and the rat stabbed Torey in the leg when they managed to track him down to end the chatter. Toss in the shards of glass David had to tweeze from his knuckles after a fight gone wrong and he’s been ready to snap for days. 

What he wanted was to cook dinner for Krej, drink two glasses of nice wine, and then hold Krej’s wrists behind his back and fuck him til they both exploded. 

Apparently Chara decided he needed a check-in instead.

David drops his head onto Krej’s back and squeezes his wrists so hard it probably hurts. Good thing Krej likes a bit of an edge. “Fuck.”

“Just go see what he wants and then come back.” Never much liked an audience, though. 

Another smash from the kitchen forces David’s hand. He bites Krej’s shoulder, mutters, “Stay,” and grimaces as he pulls out, air cold on his dick. No point putting on clothes since Marchand is there to kill him or scold him, and he’ll mock him either way, so David pads out of his bedroom in time to see Marchand take a swig of the very expensive wine Krej brought straight from the bottle. 

Marchand waves vaguely at David’s nakedness and flagging erection with his unoccupied hand and smirks. “Seen Krejci lately, Pasta? We were supposed to meet up later.”

The nickname brings up memories, which is why Marchand uses it. Anything for an advantage, David knows from his days running in Marchy’s crew, a Czech kid fresh off the boat and caught up in Marchand’s laugh. He remembers everything he learned from Marchy, how to lie, how to make a guy so mad he dropped his guard and you could put him down, bang bang, just like that, Pasta. His first handshake with Patrice was like coming home, feeling recognized and so proud, and all he did was use his baby face to gain access and his fists to send a message.

David remembers the first time he saw Krej work and the awe he felt at how easily Krej could kill. Not like he was snuffing out a life, like he was taking out the trash before taking David for a meal. They ate delicate pastries on a bench by the bay and David fell just a little bit wildly in love. Kid stuff.

It’s not kid stuff now. Hasn’t been since David got the promotion from Chara and he knows he’s handling the pressure well, but not as smoothly as hoped. Knows he fucked up with Spoons and Torey.

“How can I help you?” David asks. 

Marchand takes another drink. “Thought you’d want to know Patrice is out cleaning up your mess.”

This isn’t surprising; if ever a man was born to shake hands and smooth out wrinkles, it was Patrice Bergeron. Tonight the smoothing might require a few broken bones, but come the dawn all would be as right as it ever was in Boston.

Marchand rises with a huff. Glass crunches under his shoes as he makes his way to David, limping just enough for it to be a hassle, and he stops an arms length away, enough space for their history to pool between them, like blood soaking the floor. “We don’t have time for you to fuck up again. The fucking Irish are making moves and we have to be ready for that, not wasting Pat’s time with this shit.”

“He wastes his time with yours, too.” David nods at Marchand’s leg, the one that got shot two weeks ago when Brad pissed off the wrong French Canadian. 

Marchand barks out a laugh. His eyes stay dark and dangerous. “Hey, I got the same lecture as you, except mine came from Z himself. I’m sure he’d love to chat if you wanted to come back with me, you know how he loves the hand on the shoulder, disappointed father routine.” 

David doesn’t have anything to say to that. He’d rather not go for half a dozen reasons and they both know it. Marchand hums. “Z’s sending Charlie over to help out with distribution. Spoons is coming back to me when he gets out.” And he’d get out with only a fine and a warning, thanks to Patrice. Marchand shrugs and swirls the last of the wine in the bottle. “You don’t mind me taking this for the road, right?”

He has the decency to shut the door after him on the way out. It’s a minor miracle, to be honest, but David’s really not interested in picking apart Marchand’s motivations for anything right now.

In the bedroom, Krej has made himself comfortable, propped up with pillows and jerking himself slowly enough David knows it’s meant to be a show. Even after the interruption David’s mouth goes dry at the sight of Krej’s broad shoulders and long limbs, well muscled and scarred, in his bed.

“Spoons goes back to Brad and I get Charlie,” David summarizes.

Krej shrugs and rolls his shoulders. Puts himself on display and spreads those thick thighs again. “I assume he took the wine.”

“He always takes the wine.”

Krej laughs and thumbs the head of his dick. “You want to blow me?” When David shakes his head, Krej tries again. “Want to pin me to your bed with a hand on my throat and fuck the breath out of me?”

David’s dick twitches and Krej licks his lips. Maybe this week wasn’t so bad afterall.


End file.
